


Honour

by 221b_hound



Series: Guitar Man [98]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ambivalence, Gen, PTSD John, Song Lyrics, military honours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 17:07:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2117970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221b_hound/pseuds/221b_hound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sherlock discovered John used to be in a band, John began to write music again. Most of the songs he writes are about the two of them, but back in those early days, before Moriarty, John wrote another song - about the military honours he received, and about his PTSD, and about his ambivalence. There's a reason he keeps his medals in a box and never speaks about them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honour

**Author's Note:**

> My [a cappella version of Honour is on Tumblr](http://221b-hound.tumblr.com/post/94416096290/honour-a-guitar-man-song-i-havent-written-a-new), if you'd like to hear it.

Here’s a ribbon  
For your courage  
Here’s a bright piece of tin  
A badge in celebration of your sins

Here’s a memory  
For the long nights  
Here’s a face you can’t forget  
Painted colours bone and scarlet red

The honour sits inside a box  
Guarded if not jailed  
A thing of pride or something lost?  
The mark of the ones I failed

There’s meaning behind meaning  
In words spoken and those read  
The world translates to other things  
In my head

And the sound of seagulls shrieking  
Becomes another sound instead  
The boiling kettle’s screaming  
Like the dead

Here’s a bandage  
For your gashes  
Wrap your bleeding hands and heart   
Forget what you believed before the start

Here’s a secret  
Made of sorrows  
However hard you try  
You can’t go back to save the ones who die

The honour sits inside a box  
Guarded if not jailed  
A thing of pride or something lost?  
The mark of the ones I failed

Here’s a ribbon  
Here’s a nightmare  
As you fight for the next breath  
Why does survival feel so much like death?

There’s meaning behind meaning  
In words spoken and those read  
The world translates to other things  
In my head

The sound of seagulls shrieking  
Becomes another sound instead  
The boiling kettle’s screaming  
Like the dead

The honour sits inside a box  
Guarded if not jailed  
A thing of pride or something lost?  
The mark of the ones I failed


End file.
